


butterflies around a flame...

by arrow_through_my_writers_block



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by a Movie, Romance, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrow_through_my_writers_block/pseuds/arrow_through_my_writers_block
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabella doesn't expect a lengthy string of code on her laptop to transform into a letter from her recently deceased mother offering to tell her the truth about her father, but she accepts the ghostly offering with slight hesitation. </p><p>In the confession comes the remarkable tale of Felicity Smoak's whirlwind romance with troublemaker Oliver Queen and their desperate attempt to escape the circumstances that brought them together in the first place. (inspired by the film 'Fire With Fire' | title from the song 'Birds of a Feather' by The Civil Wars)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I know what you're thinking. I don't need to be starting another multichapter fic... But this story won't leave me alone. So here's a new story for you. If you like the idea, great! If you don't, that's great too! Thanks for being faithful readers of some or all of my fics - your support means the world!
> 
> Enjoy this random creation.

Isabella turned the key to her loft, weary and aching all over from the events of the day. She couldn’t recall a time when she had been more exhausted, but she supposed she had never felt such grief before this. She entered the loft, the floor to ceiling windows letting in the muted light of the overcast day, and she sighed. She hung her keys onto the hook next to the door and made her way into the kitchen.

The wine rack was full, to which she was grateful. She selected a deep red and fetched a glass from the cabinet, then made her way to the island at the center of kitchen. Her laptop was there waiting as it always was, open but turned off. She pressed the ‘power’ button and then set to work uncorking the bottle of wine. Her mother had been an expert at opening bottles… but really, she had been an expert at almost everything she did.  _ Powerhouse Smoak… _ Isabella thought with a slight grin as the cork popped.  _ No wonder everyone loved  _ and  _ feared her… _

As Isabella began to pour her wine, her eyes were drawn to the laptop screen as something flashed and scrolled. She set the bottle down and hopped onto her stool, eyes following the frantic code multiplying on her screen. She had never seen anything like it. So complex, she knew it could only stem from one mind.

Her mother’s.

Felicity Smoak’s.

She waited as the string of code continued to flesh itself out, then the screen lit up with a simple text file. It was a letter. It was addressed to her. And with that first address, her heart dropped and the grief of the last week swept over her with renewed fury.

The funeral had ended mere hours ago, her mother’s body laid to rest in a beautiful plot beneath a shady willow. And yet, here was a letter from her, as if from beyond the grave. She read it multiple times, unwilling to move or accept her mother’s ghostly request.

_ My dearest Issie, _

_ This might be a shock. I can only assume it is - it isn’t every day that you get a message from your dead mother. But it is important that you read this and accept my offerings. _

_ I offer you the truth. The whole story. A sort of memoir of how I met your father and what truly happened before you came into my life - such a blessing and ray of sunshine. The few hints I have given you throughout your life aren’t enough, and I cannot imagine you continuing through life without, in some small way, knowing your father for the wonderful, complicated man he was. _

_ He was truly the love of my life, and our story was short but full of adventure - a story worth telling. And you deserve to know it - to know him - without any edits or filters. _

_ So if you’d like everything laid bare, all you have to do is click ‘enter.’ It’s that simple. It is my hope that you will and that you’ll forgive me for never telling you this face-to-face. _

_ The choice is yours to make… _

_ With all the love in the world, _

  * __Your mother__



 

Isabella’s heart pounded in her chest, terrified and thrilled all at once. She had longed to know the truth all her life - ever since she had found the tattered photograph of a handsome man in her mother’s vanity drawer when she was six years old and desperate to wear the jewelry hidden within. She hadn’t expected to find that photo, and she hadn’t expected the reaction it had garnered from her mother. Tears welling and hand clamped over her mouth, her mother had shaken her head in panic. “No, Issie,” she had blubbered. “He isn’t anyone important.”

Those words had remained with Isabella throughout her life, a constant and obvious question there that begged to be answered. And now she had the chance to get those answers, but she hesitated with her finger over the correct key.

She had never witnessed her mother hesitate like this. Never. Not once. Not during the potential end of the world or the numerous times Barry Allen could have lost his life in some race through time and space. Through all the craziness, Felicity Smoak had remained a sturdy beacon of hope and light to the team and a powerhouse in the corporate world.

Isabella took a deep breath, imagining herself at her mother’s computer set-up in S.T.A.R. Labs, unmoving and strong. “You can do this, Issie,” she whispered to herself as she took the wine glass in her hand and pressed the ‘enter’ key with the other. “You need to know.”


	2. Chapter 1

_ “Our romance began by surprise. Unplanned. Unexpected. _

_ But as if it were meant to be.  _

_ If I believed in fate, I might even say that it was fated - written in the fires that instantly sparked between us. _

_ We were drawn to one another, like butterflies around a flame…  _

_ Beautiful, but inevitably ill-fated.” _

~Felicity Smoak

* * *

 

 

She ran. 

It was freeing to be away from the school and all the gossiping chatter. She ran to her favorite spot, a hidden spot, tucked away from the main trails. The green canopy above filtered the sunlight, keeping her skin from burning and the heat of the day bearable.

She hopped over a fallen tree and found herself hurtling toward the quiet she craved. Her world was so composed of numbers and wires, tech with no foreseeable purpose, that the peacefulness of the wilderness around the school was the perfect escape. She took her camera, stuffed in her backpack in place of the usual textbooks and notebooks full of code.

It was the only school of its kind. A school dedicated to the instruction of all forms of engineering to an all female student body. Her own estranged father taught at the institution as an advanced coding professor. He had taken it upon himself to locate Felicity at the age of fourteen in the hopes that he had produced a brilliant, genius child. He obviously had and he had convinced Donna of the school’s absolute necessity if they hoped for Felicity to excel and be taken seriously by college admissions. Fast forward to her senior year and she was convinced the school was a modern attempt at emulating Hitler’s Youth. Her father and the headmistress, Miss Larven, had the school under lockdown the vast majority of the time, with almost zero creative electives and only one chance a week to visit the small town nearby. Most were so brainwashed that they remained on campus rather than enjoy the world outside.

Felicity refused to fall into that pattern. She thrived on her schoolwork  _ and  _ her creativity with a lens. The codes and tech helped her make sense of the possibilities her knowledge could achieve, but the camera helped her make sense of the world. A world she knew very little of. A world she hadn’t really explored. It buzzed and hummed and rustled around her, alive in a way the school never was. The walls of the institution were bare, devoid of artwork of any kind and lacking all sense of personality. The world outside teemed with life and vibrancy she sought desperately, starved of it as she was.

So she ran and ran, weaving through the trees and jumping over uneven ground until she reached the trickling creek and the pond it emptied into. The trees crowded about, drowning the pond in speckled light and a luxurious coolness. It was the perfect spot for a fantastical composition, full of woodsy whimsy and mystery; a place fit for fairies or a sleeping sword of promise. She dropped her bag beneath a tree, amongst the tangle of roots, and began to unpack her equipment.

Her idea was quite involved, requiring a wide lense to capture every detail of the tranquil pond, a remote shutter activation and the perfect exposure settings. And the costume. The long white lace dress she’s stolen from the local thrift shop on a school outing rested at the bottom of the bag, along with the crown of ceramic rosebuds which, at a distance, looked real.

She stripped down completely, allowing the chill of the shade tickle her skin and send up goosebumps across her body. She hopped about, barefooted and naked, setting up her camera and checking the aperture in accordance to the scattered light and the end result she desired. Once all was ready, she pulled on the dress and lowered the crown onto her head, curls naturally tangling with it. She gripped the waterproof remote within the lace of her sleeve, hidden from the view of the camera. As she lowered herself into the shallow pond, she allowed the rest of the world to fall away. And then she clicked the button on the remote to capture the first of many melancholic shots.

 

* * *

 

“You can’t beat him, Queen!”

Oliver looked up at Rene’s grinning face, smug and oh so certain. “I know for a fact that I can.”

“Allen is our fastest.”

Oliver glanced away, eyes squinted against the unforgiving sun - hot, bright and ever present. Rene was right. Barry Allen was their fastest runner. Fastest worker… he did everything fast. But there was more to their weekly races than simple speed. Tommy and Digg chuckled as they hunched over their hand-drawn, mostly incomplete map of the surrounding forest. After a moment, Digg motioned Oliver over. He got close and leaned over the truck tailgate, eyes watering as the sun reflected off the paper.

“We have a possible shortcut,” Tommy whispered, fingers clutching at the gold canary pendant hanging from a matching chain around his neck - a gift from Laurel, his sweetheart back home. “Show ‘im, Digg.”

Oliver turned to John Diggle, known as Digg for short. His massive, muscled arms were crossed at his chest and a single bead of sweat slid down the bridge of his nose. Then he moved, arms unfolding to allow his fingers to trace the map. “Use the usual route, but once you hit the cluster of rocks at this ridge, go left. We don’t know much about the trail, but I’m pretty sure there’s a creek to your left after a quarter mile. Follow it, always running parallel to the creek.”

Oliver raised a brow. “So what you’re saying is this isn’t a sure thing?”

Digg shrugged. “But if it works, we get first go at mess hall and preferred shower times.  _ Hot water _ , Oliver.  _ Hot food.  _ Just… hot.” They all fell silent for a moment, eyes glossy with simple daydreams. Then Digg continued. “And if it works, that proves that I read that map in Head Goon’s office quickly but one hundred percent correctly.”

Tommy clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “Yeah. All that work and your miraculous running for the comforts of home! Well… almost.” Tommy let go of the pendant almost as a sort of sad punctuation to his words. 

Oliver chuckled. “Okay.” Then he began memorizing the route Digg had just indicated, careful not to reveal the map they hid within their little huddle of three. The path was unclear and unmapped, just waiting for Oliver to officially survey.

A wind began to kick up, lifting leaves and dust from the main plaza. Their little camp was unwalled, unlike most within the prison system. Amanda Waller, the elusive warden of the camp, claimed it helped establish trust and good faith with the young men serving their time. But with freedom came conditions and there was always a catch. Oliver knew Waller used her goons to keep impossibly watchful eyes on all of them, and he was very familiar with the rifles strapped to their backs. She allowed their races for cabin priority treatment, but Oliver knew that if any of them attempted to escape beyond the constraints of the races, those rifles would be ready to aim at their if they were found.

“Alright, boys,” Lawton, Head Goon himself, began. “You know the rules. Whoever makes the run around the mountain and back first gets their cabin the presidential VIP treatment for the next week.”

The entire camp population cheered. There were six cabins, all of which produced their most fit occupant to make the mountain run. Allen was always chosen. Oliver was always chosen. The other cabins never stood a chance against either of them.

“How about we up the stakes?”

The crowd of dirty, sweating bodies fell silent. “What’s that mean, Hoss?” Rene asked.

“Winning cabin gets a special trip to the local cinema.”

“No one calls it the cinema anymore, buddy,” Tommy teased, eliciting laughter throughout the crowd.

“I can call it whatever the fuck I want, Merlyn. Now, let’s get in place. You know the drill. Gun goes off and you run your sorry asses as fast as you can. First one back gets it all. But all of you better be back by sundown. Now. Places!”

Oliver moved to the line, two over from Barry. They eyed one another, Barry attempting to appear intimidating with his lanky body and quirked brows. Oliver rolled his eyes and returned to inwardly chanting the directions.  _ Usual. Cluster and left. Creek, follow. Keep going. _

The gun went off and everyone bolted, feet pounding against the dirt and gravel as they all dispersed. They went in vaguely the same direction and with the same intentions: never let anyone else know where you are. Oliver went toward the old rickety gate at the back of the camp and hopped it like a hurdle, unwilling to waste time on fiddling with the latch. And he was off.

The sun scorched his skin as he pushed himself forward. Up hills. Around trees. Over ditches. His worn boots dug into the well traveled soil and kicked up rocks and leaves with each stride. There was barely a breeze and soon his body was drenched in sweat; his breathing remained even despite the exertion. He was used to these sensations, this path and the race as a whole. He knew what he’d endure if he lost and he knew what he’d enjoy if he won.

The cluster of rocks and mountain foliage came up quickly and he turned sharply left, feet colliding with unfamiliar terrain. It was uneven, a strict path upwards, and wholey shrouded by trees. The shade cooled his sun-warmed skin and allowed his eyes to relax. The smell of trickling water met his nose and he looked to the left. The creek was there, inviting and calming. He cut over the path and crouched low until he could dunk his hands into the icy waters. He drank until he felt absolutely quenched, and then moved on, pace slightly slowed. He used the trek to enjoy his surroundings. Despite the ugliness of his situation and the choices that had sent him to Waller’s honor camp, he thrived in the wilderness. He allowed the rugged outdoors to seep into his bones, shaping him into something other than the privileged boy who sent had him here.

The path angled upwards and his calves began to burn with the change. He looked forward to glimpsed trees clumped at the top of the path, shrouding the rest of the way in luxurious shade. He began to run once more, the chance for more shade more important than conserving his energy for the final leg of the race. The trees slowly enveloped him and the smell of trickling water wafted through his nostrils, filling his lungs with freshness. The creek fell into a small pond and then out the other side and down the mountain. The trees and bushes leaned toward the water as worshipers reach for God, their roots soaked in the little tide the rippled along the edge. Oliver let out a long sigh.

This spot was relaxing.

This spot was heaven.

This spot was… occupied.

Beneath one dense tree stood a camera on a tripod. It faced out toward the waters, lense focused and ready. He looked about, searching for the photographer and found no one. Then he looked toward the center of the pond and found a young woman. Her body was wrapped in a soaking wet, lace dress and she was submerged beneath the water but for her face, clumps of her wild blond curls, and one upturned hand. Her eyes were closed.

He stepped forward to get a better look and then her face turned, slow and with a grace he had never seen before. Her eyes slid open and she gazed at him, unsurprised by his intrusion and unafraid despite his uniformed pants and the wild look he knew he possessed during the races. She simply watched him as he watched her, interest written within her eyes that he was certain mirrored his own. She was glorious and mysterious and strange all rolled into one petite body. Then he heard the camera’s shutter close and open. The sound triggered the return to reality. To the world he wished could simply be this moment wrapped up in trees and water and the ethereal existence of this woman in the water.

But instead he ran. He ran around the backside of the camera and away from the pond, his mind occupied by the race and what he might win. But her eyes remained at the forefront of this thoughts like the real prize was her.

 

* * *

 

The young man’s eyes remained with Felicity even a few days later. His intensity. The wildness of his sweat-drenched appearance and the uniform he wore. All of it screamed no-good and woe-be-gone. But those eyes.

His eyes proclaimed something deeper, something more than just troubled youth stuck in the honor camp. He had a mysterious depth to him that poets wrote about, painters used as models and photographers caught unawares. Some of the more sheltered girls she knew might have called him dreamy or even, frustratingly, a bad boy. But Felicity felt there was more there than those stereotypes alluded to.

“Earth to Felicity!”

Beside her, Lyla Michaels eyed her with concerned and annoyance equally mixed.

“Sorry,” Felicity murmured.

Lyla rolled her eyes. “You’ve been so melancholy ever since you went out the other day.”

“Melancholy?”

Lyla nodded. “Constant daydreaming. Ignoring your best friend’s attempts at normal communication. Not giving the teachers a hard time when discussing the importance of search algorithms.”

“I haven’t been  _ daydreaming _ , Lyla.”

Lyla let out an unconvinced snort. “Sure, whatever you say.”

They were the only two who decided to take the school up on their offer of a day out on the town for a movie and milkshakes. They walked along the town’s depressing main street with one of their dorm supervisors remaining a polite distance behind them. They kept their conversations as quiet as possible, out of earshot of the woman. But as they lined up at the box office, they remained completely silent. As Lyla bought their tickets, Felicity turned around at the sound of a bus rolling to a stop across the street. The door opened and slowly a line of young men from the honor camp flooded out. They followed an angry looking man across the street, single file, until they were crowded on the sidewalk.

And then she saw him toward the back of the line.

That young man. That wild, mysterious young man with the eyes that held depths of experiences she could never guess. And it didn’t take long for him to notice her.

Their eyes locked, hard and fast and full of questions.

“Felicity, come on! The movie is about to start!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> Follow me on Social Media!  
> Twitter: @miss_writer  
> Tumblr: @arrow-through-my-writers-block

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Does this prologue spark your curiosity for Felicity and Oliver's story? Let me know! 
> 
> Follow me - 
> 
> tumblr: @arrow-through-my-writers-block  
> twitter: @miss_writer


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